


Life Excerpt

by LizzyDizzyYo



Category: Original Work
Genre: Celebrity Character, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury Recovery, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Trauma, Mental Health Issues, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Sickfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Whump, comatose character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyDizzyYo/pseuds/LizzyDizzyYo
Summary: Als and James didn't really have an easy life, but that does not mean it will stop them from living it.Collection of life snippets of the two young men in random chronological order.*Please read the tags carefully and heed them. Do not read if you think some of the elements of this story will distress you.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Wake Up

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. If you didn't know, these are the original characters from which I derived Nate and Matt of Not Exactly My Type (My omegaverse original story). I won't promise regular updates because I'm afraid it will be like NEMT too, but I have some chapters already lined up to be posted occasionally. Happy reading and let me know what you think :D

_November 2019_

There was a steady pumping sound across him from the ventilator. It was loud and dominating despite the lavish environment around him in an attempt to cover up the bleak aura of the room. He had already gotten used to it by now, though. The push of the pump gave an almost comical whooshing sound each time it went down if it weren't for why it was pumping in the first place.

Als was still and lifeless on the bed.

The complicated tubing and mask attached to his fiancé’s body in various places would have scared anyone who had just seen it. It did terrify him and made him feel powerless the first time he watched the doctors installed them. Alas, he had seen them all way too many times now.

(Maybe, he couldn't really remember when the doctor declared that Als could no longer breathe on his own completely and decided they had to Frankenstein him.)

It was just a cold. A normal cold. Even the doctors said that many people have the bacteria living inside their bodies for months, and even years, without it having any adverse effect. Hell, he most likely also had them in his own body too. He wasn't infected. He was healthy, as healthy as he could be physically with all the stress he was having.

So how could it put Als into coma like this? And why?

It was just so fucking unfair, both for him and for Alzie. His sweet Albert didn't deserve this, not at all. He had already suffered enough for almost a whole goddamn year after what that fucking bastard did back in January. If anything, he should have had gotten the chance to truly get better and happier now.

Which he did, after staying in the psychiatric institution under court-ordered hospitalization for four months. But then a new prosecutor caught a whiff of his discharge and decided it was a good idea to ruffle him again about the case–or a new case related to his own assault, as she said. And he was triggered again, so he tried to drown himself in the bathtub after downing a whole bottle of anxiety pills.

Between the slight drowning and the next stay in hospital where he had to be put on a ventilator for a while, none of the doctors were really sure where Als got infected with _streptococcus pneumoniae_. The bathtub in their apartment was not new and there were other tenants before them who either did not clean it well enough or were ill while using it, and hospital is a hot pot where diseases are thriving–especially for someone on respiratory assistance machine, the risk to counteract them is much higher. The point was, Als ended up surviving his attempt but getting extremely sick as a result.

James felt so furious.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to swallow the lump forming in his throat and stopped the warm wetness in his eyes from spilling. It wouldn't fucking help. Als wasn't going to wake up just because he cried, he kept telling himself. Then, when he felt more in control of himself, he turned back again to where his lover lied and looked at him–all in paper thin, ghostly white glory and absolutely unmoving.

James couldn't help himself, then.

He choked on his tears and immediately reached out a hand to comb through the dark strands of Als' hair. It was coarse and it had lost all the lush gleam it had the last time James remembered seeing when he got down on one knee the beginning of the year. The healthy blush and slight tan hue of the skin was also gone, replaced by cold, death-like dry skin blanketing the bones with nothing in between.

Fuck, it hurt.

Als' body could no longer generate sufficient heat to keep his fever going so that he could fight off the infection. It already stopped days ago, maybe weeks. If in the first few days of the infection Als had insane fever that went past 104 degree at many points, the body under James' palm now was almost freezing to touch. There was no more nutrient or energy to help Als beat the bacteria and flush down their toxin, let alone to recover. The various mixture of intravenous drips and nasogastric food pumped into him barely made a difference, despite all the expensive medical personnel’s best effort.

Als was... well, dying.

That was why the head physician in Als' case pulled him outside yesterday where Als' lawyers and immediate family members were standing with grave looks. Some of them looked angry at him, while the others were pitying. Als' two youngest sisters were not present, which was for the best interest of everyone involved. They were too young to witness this.

"Mr. Dennison, I would like to discuss a legal and medical action pertaining your fiancé. There is no easy way to say this, but..."

James cut him off to tell him to get straight to the point, which he later came to regret. As he saw the faces of everyone else around him, he realized it might be about an even worse news than what they all had heard lately. And boy, did he wish he were wrong.

James was Als' conservator of person, as dictated by his will, which meant he was in charge of all of Als' medical decisions where he could not make on his own. And James was the one with the right and the responsibility to get Als off life support when it was time.

"Fuck, no. I'm not taking him off life support. Are you fucking kidding me? You want me to kill him?" He fired incredulously at that time.

"Sir, by that time, your fiancé would not have been truly alive to begin with. He would have been brain dead and have no chance of waking up anymore."

"I don't fucking care, I'm not pulling the plug on him. He'll wake up."

"Sir, he has severe pneumonia and meningitis and the bacteria has also spread to his bloodstream. He doesn't have spleen anymore and both his lung and liver were injured in his assault in the beginning of the year. Right now, they are extremely vulnerable."

"Your fucking point being?"

"Your fiancé’s chance of survival is...almost none."

His heart almost stopped beating for few seconds when he heard it.

He knew Alzie's sickness was bad and there was a chance that he might not make it, but James thought that it was at least 50-50, not less than 15% like what the doctor told him yesterday–or maybe he had always known, but it was easier to hold on to the illusion that Als was going to wake up and they would have their happily ever after then. He could no longer do that when the number was spelled out.

"It is only if there were some kind of a miracle that he might wake up, and even then, he would never be the same person you asked to marry before," the doctor then continued, not realizing James was no longer mentally present enough to listen properly.

He went to a club in the evening, drinking himself almost to death before his coworkers pulled him away from the bar and snatched the vodka bottle from his shaky hand. Then they drove him back to the hospital only to turn around at the last second.

They knew about Als. He couldn't afford to hide things so tightly anymore, not with them whom he spent most of his waking hours with while not in the hospital. He didn't give a fuck if they spread things around to paparazzi, or journalists, or whoever the fuck they wanted. He really couldn't give a fuck anymore. But they didn't, and they helped him pull himself together instead.

Luna, one of the coworkers, decided it might be the best if he stayed away from his dying fiancé for a while. They all agreed, and James was too drunk and broken to argue or offer alternative. Besides, they knew the Marcells weren't all so accepting of him with how aristocratic they tended to be. Seeing him in such state of disarray and drunkenness would probably push them to fight him to gain Als' full conservatorship. So they drove him to his apartment instead in the end.

They were nice enough to cover for him and back him up in getting a sick day off from work for today. To be perfectly honest, his boss was an understanding person, and he'd probably understand anyway if James were to take a day off for personal reason. His boss knew that his fiancé was deathly sick after all, although he wasn't told yet who the said fiancé was.

Now here he was, with no less headache but at least full soberness. And yet he still felt unbalanced and desolate, not because of alcohol but because of the reason of said intoxication in the first place.

"Hey, baby. Don't you wanna talk to me just a little bit? Please?" He croaked lowly and pathetically. “I miss you.”

The body on the bed stayed still, of course.

Still, he was determined and desperate, mostly desperate, so he tried again. Many medical journals say that talking to someone in coma can stimulate their brain as they theoretically can still hear. So it could work, right?

“A lot of people miss you, your friends, your family, your fans. Mostly me, though, I’m pretty I miss you the most,” he gave a choked chuckle, “I miss talking to you, cuddling with you, and just eat shitty mac and cheese with you. Don’t you?” James said with shaky voice and forced smile, his knuckle gently caressing Als’ boney cheek.

He hoped against all hope that the lids would open to reveal those deep grey eyes that he loved so much. Those eyes, those piercing, intelligent eyes with intense pinning strength that twinkled with mischief sometimes. He remembered them vividly still. He had to, as that memory was the only thing he could hold onto and attach his dwindling hopes on. God, he really fucking needed Als.

Eventually, he whispered hoarsely, “Please, I can’t do this without you. Please wake up, Als. I’m begging you.”

As before, Als kept silent and catatonic.

James couldn't stop himself from choking up and sobbing again, then. His other hand reached out to lay over Als' extremely thin torso and hugged him. Then James laid his face on the crook between Als' waist and left hand. He let go of himself and cried his heart out.

Yet, during all those instances, Als' body stubbornly never moved.

***

Today was rough.

No. That would be a gross understatement.

Today was _fucking hell_. That was more like it.

James’ hands were still trembling as he held onto his lover’s lifeless one, still cold and skin-and-bone. There was no change in the appearance, both from the limb he was gripping for dear life and from the body it was attached to. Als’ body still looked as sickly and as frail as it did in the last few days. Only this time, James understood very well just how easily that extremely faint pulsing on the wrist could stop at a moment’s notice.

Afterall, it almost did an hour ago.

He still remembered the loud ringing in his ear as the doctors and nurses were rushing in with a crash cart because for some reason, Als went into cardiac arrest. The minutes of the medical team trying to keep his fiancé from having to have his time of death announced felt like hours to James. He couldn’t move then; hell, he couldn’t even breathe or cry.

He was frozen, staring at the blurry scene of some of the doctors trying to shock Als’ heart into beating again while the rest were rapidly, almost frantically, checking the machines and Als’ body to look for the problem and hopefully resolve it. He could faintly hear Jane choking on a sob besides him and Als’ 13-year-old sister weeping, though the sound was almost completely drowned by his own loud heartbeat.

The cold sensation engulfing his body as he helplessly stared at his fiancé struggling to grasp on life thread was not something he would likely forget. Then again, there had been so many horrific shits he witnessed and experienced this year that would stick with him for the rest of his life.

James squeezed his eyes as he brought Als’ hand closer to his lips, his tears sliding down his cheek and wetting the back of palm he was holding.

Besides the deep bruising around Albert’s closed eyelids and deathly pale skin, he looked almost… peaceful. Like he wasn’t aware of the mental turmoil everyone, including James, had just gone through. Like he wasn’t feeling any of the potential pain the doctors kept saying he might be experiencing in his coma.

In a way, James was grateful. The whole time Als was in coma was the only time he wasn’t visibly in pain, either physically, mentally, emotionally, or in the mix of all. It was selfish, he knew, but sometimes James couldn’t handle seeing Als just cry either silently or loudly because he was hurting. And he had been doing that _a lot_ since January 21st this year. It was honestly taking a toll on him. He was glad that he didn’t have to helplessly keep watching Als spiraled into pain hysteria for once.

He even had a thought that maybe it would be better if the doctors weren’t successful in saving him before. Then, Als wouldn’t suffer anymore.

Maybe Nina was right.

Maybe Als would be better off if he let him go.

As much as it pained him, Als deserved this respite.

Despite that train of thought, his fingers stay clenched and rigid around Als’ frail fingers and his tearful eyes stayed unwavering towards the deeply ‘sleeping’ prince’s face.

He couldn’t let him go. Not yet.

***

It happened again today.

He always had this hyperaware wariness that when he was at work or somewhere else away from the hospital, he would get that gut-wrenching call or text that would throw his entire composure into shambles. And he did.

His hand was shaking, and his eyes were unfocused. The loud ringing in his ear was back and he didn’t register the faint sound of his coworkers calling him.

_James, you to come here quickly_

He read that sentence over and over again on his screen with pretty much his entire consciousness locked onto it.

He didn’t think about it too much when he felt his phone vibrating while he was in front of his computer at first, didn’t even think about looking at the phone while he pulled it out and brought it in front of his face with eyes still locked onto the computer screen.

It was the first time he felt focused and somewhat calm for a long time, something he didn’t think he would ever feel after the day he saw his fiancé pretty much technically dead for almost a minute in the hospital.

Then he turned his eyes to the screen of his phone.

He saw a little bit of the message from Janice and he felt ice cold sensation drenching his entire body. He didn’t even have the strength to click on it fully, not that he had to considering the text is short enough to be displayed fully on the screen without being opened. The blue circle still was present beside the message, taunting him to open it up and give himself another shockwave through his entirety.

“…ames… on.”

“Bud…”

Someone was slowly prying his fingers off his phone, as difficult as it was with how tight it was gripped.

“James, hey.”

Another hand was waving in front of his face, slowly tethering him back to reality. He took in shuddering breath.

The wavy brunette friend of his dragged a wheelie chair in front of him and sat down facing him. Slowly his vision came back fully and cleared up, showing him Luna sitting in front him and several other coworkers of his crowding around her.

“Do you want me to drive you to the hospital?” she softly asked while gently touching his knee.

“I’ve talked to Mr. Ackerson about you having personal emergency. He said you can go with one of us,” he heard another person said. Allen? Greg?

He kept silent, just breathing brokenly.

“Hey, it’s okay, yeah? It’s gonna be okay.”

He didn’t know who said that. He didn’t really care.

Eventually, one coworker, not Luna this time, ended up gently guiding him out of the building and into the parking lot. He asked James about the directions to the hospital where Als was being cared for, but no answer, so the guy ended up calling another coworker who had gone with James before where it was.

He somehow had enough awareness and energy to say ‘Albert Jay Marcell’ when asked by the lobby nurse whom he wanted to visit, only dimly aware of his friend gaping his mouth when he heard it. However, he was too focused on composing himself to say his own name when the nurse asked who he was to really care about how shocked the guy next to him was.

Another nurse stationed for the VVIP section (which only had Als’ room in it, thank fuck) showed up to escort them both to where the room was, then he went back to enter a limbo in his mind.

“James?”

He perked up a bit at someone excited calling his name, and his friend slowed down their steps in the VVIP hallway for a bit.

“Oh my god, James. I’m so fucking glad you’re here.”

James saw Jane walking towards him, almost in half-run, with arms open wide and face beaming although a tear streak was present on her cheek.

He didn’t react when she hugged him, although his mind was slowly focusing and getting puzzled.

She looked… happy?

“Oh, and you are?” she eventually said after pulling back, slightly sniffling and wiping away some tears.

James could tell his coworker was getting a bit confused and shocked, seeing a famous half-Japanese musician talking to him so casually with tears all over her face. On top of finding out the person James was visiting was Als, a world-famous multiple-award-winning actor and musician too, who in the last one year or so was missing from public eye for ‘health problem’ reason.

“Uh, Brent. I’m just helping him get here, from, uh, our office.”

Jane’s eyes comically widened. James still didn’t know why. Or what was happening at all.

“Oh, oh shit. James. I’m sorry. I forgot you have work today. Oh my god, I was just excited to tell you about Als I forgot you’re at your office,” she immediately frantically told him.

Brent took a slight step forward with furrowed eyebrow, “I’m sorry, but what was happening?”

Yeah, what exactly was going on?

“It’s his fiancé, he just moved his fingers. I swear! He was like,” she sniffled again with half-choked chuckle, “you know, wriggling his fingers. It wasn’t like, a big movement, but I swear I saw it. I told the–”

James didn’t listen. He just choked out a sob and crumbled down on to the floor.

“James, shit, what’s happening now?”

He didn’t heed to the desperate and confused question from his friend, just letting out his entire emotion and continuing his relieved sobbing on the ground.

He vaguely heard his friend frantically asking Jane what’s going on and Jane trying to calm him down while he continued crying, then he heard something about Brent asking about the text he received earlier.

“Someone just texted him, ‘you have to come here fast’ or something and we all thought something was wrong. I just know his fiancé was sick or something.”

“What?! No! I was just telling him there’s an improvement with Als, and he needs to see it.”

“Well, we didn’t know what happened. James just went catatonic and shit and scared us all.”

“Oh fuck, I didn’t… shit, James I didn’t mean to–”

James felt Janice’s delicate arms trying to engulf his much bigger body in a hug. She kept trying to gauge a response from his shaking, weeping body with no success for a while.

“James, honey, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He still didn’t answer, although his sobbing was getting more quiet and his shaking was getting less intense.

“I was just so happy and excited that I didn’t realize how my text was going to sound like.”

He eventually stopped sobbing, somewhat, and turned to her.

He didn’t believe yet what she was saying, his mind was always set on preparation for the worst ever possibility (though in reality, he turned out not to be ready at all). He searched her eyes, trying to find any sign of lies and pretense.

Maybe Als did die and she was just trying to let him down gently.

Maybe it was his own mind that was trying to trick him to preserve his sanity, refusing to accept the truth for now.

Maybe he was still at the office, and all of this was just in his head.

“James?” Janice tried again, this time touching his shoulder to drag him back to reality.

He saw Brent kneeling beside her, the scene eerily similar to when he first received the text before.

“James, answer me please?”

It was real. At least, he didn’t find any clue that told him it was anything but.

“I need to see Als.”

Jane’s eyes softened, and she slowly rose with arms still gripping him, guiding him to rise with her.

“Come on, then.”

They all walked in silence until they reached the door leading to the suite.

When he saw the looming door with two guards on either side of it, he can’t help the trepidation coming back to engulf him again.

“It’s okay,” he heard her say again with gentle caress on his shoulder.

The guards nodded respectfully at him with slight comforting smile, probably understanding that after all the horror he had to face on the other side, he needed as much encouragement and reassurance as possible right now. He needed some convincing that it was going to be okay this time.

He finally pushed the door and walked inside, both Janice and Brent giving him respectful distance and leaving him to enter alone to have his own moment with the comatose (unconscious?) Als.

Even when he sat down, he didn’t sense any difference, better or worse, from the silent body lying on the bed.

Als still looked lifeless and sick. The monitor still showcased weak albeit stable heartbeat. All the tubes and machines were working as well as they could be, as far as he was concerned.

But Janice said he moved his fingers, right?

He kept quiet and not moving for a while, just to see if there was going to be any difference occurring when he wasn’t looking. He finally gave up and reached for Als’ left palm.

“Hey, baby.”

No response. No spike in the heart monitor.

“I heard you were kinda waking up.”

Still no difference.

“Well, not waking up. I guess that wouldn’t be for a while.”

He saw the ever so peaceful face of his fiancé in the deep slumber.

“You showed Jane your fingers moving. Don’t you wanna show me?”

He chuckled a bit.

“That sounded like all of those fuckboys who are like ‘where my hug at’, huh?”

He rose from his seat and bent down closer to Als’ face, hand still gripping the bony fingers tightly.

“It’s okay. I’ll wait as long as I need to. I’m never giving up on you my prince.”

He ended his sentence with a kiss on Als’ cold and pale forehead. He let his lips linger there for a moment before raising his unoccupied right hand to run his fingers through the black strands.

“I’ll always love you and be here for you. No matter how long it takes for you to recover. Don’t worry,” he kissed the forehead again, feeling a gentle trail of his tear on his cheek before it fell onto Als’ face.

He brushed it gently and smiled down on Als, although he knew Als couldn’t see it.

“Hey, I took way too many personal days already, and as much as I wanna accompany you, I kinda have to get back to work. But, you know I’ll always come back, right?”

Of course, he got no response, but he still felt like it didn’t feel right to leave him without a goodbye.

“Bye, sweetheart. Get better soon, okay?”

With one last gentle kiss, he straightened up and turned around.

Then he stopped suddenly.

His eyes bulged out so suddenly that he felt like they were about to pop out of his head as he stared at Als’ left hand still in his grip.

He gulped.

It couldn’t… it couldn’t be, right?

“Als?”

Almost like he just expected the frail body in front of him to just bolt up into sitting position, he held his breath and kept staring, waiting for something to happen.

“Hey, I need to go. Is that okay?”

He tried again, thinking that maybe that was what prompted Als to react with that faint hand twitch. Maybe he was just imagining it.

It took a while of him just straining his eyes at the frail hand he was gently cupping in his own, but eventually his eyes widened again and he dove in to the bed to hug Als.

“Oh my god, Jane wasn’t lying. Oh fuck. Als, you’re still in there. Oh my god, Jesus fuck.”

He ended up throwing away all plan to go back to his work.

Brent said his other coworker had informed their boss anyway and that he already had a go ahead to stay home.

***


	2. Battlefield of Recovery (part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of psychiatric hospitalization, description of sexual assault, suicide attempt, suicide ideation. Proceed with caution.

_June 2019_

“Is your hand okay now?”

Als blinked, pulling himself out of his trance in the middle of the garden. When he looked at his left, he saw James sitting there holding his left arm in an upside down position.

Huh. He didn’t realize he wasn’t alone anymore.

James sighed when he didn’t get an answer and put Als’ hand back down on his lap gently, covering the side where the jagged line of sutures lied.

It had been over a month since he was signed into the residential psychiatric institution on the southern California. He wasn’t getting better yet, or at least that was what he overheard from what the nurses and his psychiatrist secretly discussed behind what they thought was a safely closed door.

They weren’t wrong, though. Clearly, the still healing stitches on his right inner arm and his fresh, angry red stiches on his left one were the evidence of that.

Not to mention, they were still watching over him like a hawk for that one time he almost successfully stole the entire ward’s medication supply for the day and took them all at once. He didn’t know whether he should pat himself on the back for how stealthy and slick he was or face-palm himself for how stupid the entire staff had been so far.

Well, he at least could talk now, even though the mood to do so still scarcely visited him.

The silence stretched on.

He almost felt bad for James for driving all the way from San Francisco to where he was staying now every week. Except, he kind of already told his fiancé (was he, still?) that it was okay if he were to forget about him and move on to someone more stable and less suicidal and high-maintenance.

“I’m gonna graduate next term, then maybe I’ll actually get promotion and decent wage to pay off my debts. Not fun now, but it’ll be fine in the future.”

That’s good. James deserved that.

“I kind of wish I don’t have to celebrate it alone, though.”

What? He didn’t have to. What was he talking about? He had many friends.

“I miss you.”

Oh.

“It’s not… fun being alone in our apartment. I’m used to having you around. Even if it’s only every few weeks. And I got to FaceTime you all the time. I can’t, now.”

See? Als told him he should get a new boyfriend. Maybe he wouldn’t be as lonely.

“But, it’s okay. You’re gonna go back when you’re better, right?”

_If_ he was going to get better, he was meaning to say. But he kept silent.

He was supposed to get better. He actually did over two months ago, even to the point of talking slightly, before he stupidly dug his own grave by decrypting Ben’s safe emails, his own creation that he happily gave to his ex-manager and ex-boyfriend before Ben unveiled his true colors.

He was feeling slightly improved, less numb, and more righteous and also vengeful. He kept hearing about how the detectives and the prosecutors got red-taped and hindered by unwilling witness and nonexistent lead, and all he could think about was that he was angry and hurt and vindictive. He wanted to turn the table and make Ben and his cohorts suffer in his hands.

He remembered being silenced in 2016 when they were nearing the end of their relationship and he was lied to and abused so badly, having to practically fight for his life to escape his clutch.

He remembered being silenced again last year when he just wanted to attend the fashion show season party and leave quickly as soon as his agent deemed him not needed for the social function anymore. Then Ben appeared out of nowhere with his filthy yes-man and told him not to make a scene.

It was a blurry memory after that, but it was proven in the court just weeks ago that they put something in his drink, then later doing god knows what to him.

He also remembered indirectly being silenced again just weeks after his engagement with James–the moment where the hell storm that stirred up all of these mess happened–as he had a momentary amnesia first then selective mutism later, rendering him unable to say anything once again.

He was just sick of not having his voice for 3 years.

He didn’t think it through when he hacked into his former partner’s accounts, just that he wanted to find some damning evidence and a way to let the world know what that bastard did to him.

He didn’t anticipate knowing _way_ more than he wanted to know.

He didn’t anticipate knowing in details what Ben had done to him and to, apparently, countless other young, innocent manipulated young men and women.

Then he overheard something horrific said about him.

_Als is lucky, Sir. He is the least severe victim._

He thought that was a lot of crap, considering that they finally found out that he had a secret encrypted video surveillance system that only he could access from only one authorized laptop. They finally decrypted the files with the code he printed–which he printed along with the hacked email pictures that fateful day, though the pictures ended up not being used–and they watched the videos.

Everything that happened on January 21st 2019 was there: detailed, high definition, with clear audio.

That was not ‘least severe’ at all.

But then he heard more stories–as he was having more panic attacks and nightmares–that one of the caught assailant who accepted an immunity deal had uncovered a dirty, disgusting secret beyond just what happened in January. The secret about a circle of degenerate men who regularly contacted Ben for naïve aspiring models or interns of the management company Ben worked at.

They got worse deals than Als did and in higher frequency, mostly because they didn’t have the backing of his powerful billionaire family and fame that secured him loyal (and sometimes overprotective) fans. The other victims had no one else to turn to (as if he did), and no one to protect them (as if he did either).

It broke him to know all of those in details, especially when the prosecution moved up to federal case and they brought in many more witnesses, most of them victims, including himself, which they had to keep anonymous in the records and in the trials.

At least that was the plan until he tried to walk into the busy traffic in the heart of San Francisco, and when that wasn’t successful, he tried to later jump off his balcony. And other time he went hysterical in the courthouse for one reason and another (hell, he didn’t even remember it himself.)

So here he was now, deemed too mentally unstable to testify and live outside government-compelled psychiatric hospitalization. Though, it was nice because his current long-term care place was calm. And also filled with even crazier people than him, which made him feel better about himself.

There were some bird chirping, which was pleasant, and the weather was warm despite already entering evening time. Maybe it had something to do with the time of the year, being in early summer and all. Everyone around, scattered all over the outdoor garden, seemed to be in good mood right now.

Well, except both him and James.

They were both silent on the bench as James was looking around, seemingly avoiding the awkwardness and cold emptiness between them.

At this time of the year last year, he was doing promotional tours for the summer movie he starred in while conveniently repressing memories of March as he was still communicating normally with James.

Sometimes he pondered whether it was better to deny his memory some acknowledgement and live a normal life with normal relationship like last year, or _this_ –the awful truth laid out on the table with nowhere to run and hide from it–was better. He was doing a great job pretending like nothing happened last year, even if there was still some tiny nagging in the back of his mind, but then he wouldn’t be able to ‘process it and move on’ if he didn’t recover his memory, as what his therapists said.

Yeah, well, maybe it would be possible if it weren’t for the disturbing details he didn’t even anticipate uncovering later and the subsequent assault just few months ago. Now he really missed the two ignorance-is-bliss periods in his life where he had ‘motivated forgetting’ or ‘dissociative amnesia’, or whatever it was called.

He felt another touch on his left hand again, so he looked down to see James’ hand over his own pale, bony arm. James’ fingers were gently squeezing and caressing Als’ fingers, particularly the one where the black and platinum ring was supposed to reside.

When Als looked at the older man’s face, the eyes looked haggard, red, and glassy yet the lips were still struggling to tilt up on the edges.

“I know it’s tough. I know it hurts every day for you, much worse than for me or anyone else. But you have to try, okay? You have to try to get better.”

Yeah, okay. Let him talk to a genie and maybe they would grant him that.

“And I’m sorry.”

Then James broke down, the tears escaping his eyes and falling to his cheeks while his sobs broke out. His hand shot up to his face while it got more contorted with agony.

“It was… my fault. It was–it was my fault that I let this… happen to you twice. I could have stopped them–I should! Your dad’s right… I’m sorry,” James stammered devastatingly.

Ironically enough, after hearing it overused clichély, with him having a hard time believing, Als mumbled quietly and brokenly, “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

***

His psychiatrist told him he might have bipolar.

And also GAD, a.k.a general anxiety disorder, along with his newest mental health issue addition, PTSD, but he was more focused on the bipolar part.

Apparently, it was possible to be a high-functioning bipolar person (and a high-functioning GAD person, but let’s not talk about that yet) for _years_ and not know it. He was, his therapist was convinced, one of such people.

It might not be the most severe one, which was why he never paid attention to the symptoms and why they never really seemed to spectacularly bother him. His bipolar was most likely to be type II instead of type I, hence the non-extreme polar opposite moods. Or cyclothymia, which was an even milder version than bipolar type II.

At first, he thought that was ridiculous (and he admit that feeling sort of came from his ignorance and bias towards mental health, and thus his denial that he might be having problem with it without even knowing). He then thought about it again and decided that, yeah, what his psychiatrist said kind of made sense.

He remembered that sometimes, there were moments where he was so pumped to do anything and thus took on so many projects, contracts, and gigs more than normal and he could do them in twice shorter amount of time than when he was feeling normal. He would feel like on top of the world, churning out works and creations and flying here and there to promote projects he was in. It also affected his personal life in which he became much more of a social butterfly and took on more risks to jump into relationships. It was great.

Then other times, he found it difficult to just get up, let alone finish the plans and contracts he made when he was in his height of mood. Still, he dragged his feet and do them because he promised his friends and his dates, and he was legally bound to do most of his works anyway, even if it took quite a longer time than normal, like those periods where it took more shots to do certain scenes in films or when he had to re-record parts of his songs more times than normal.

He never thought too much of it, just that it was normal that he felt ups and downs. Everybody did. It wasn’t special.

“I might have to change your medication in the near future, now that we suspect bipolar in you. It’s not gonna be a big change, don’t worry, although it will still take time to adjust. But you’ll be fine.”

Dr. Carter gave him a smile as she ended the session.

He mumbled a quick ‘okay, thanks’ and walked out of the room. Obviously, having mental illness is no excuse to forget your manner.

When Als was in the hall across the cafeteria, he saw that everyone already had their plastic plate and plastic utensils with their food, all milling around here and there. It seemed to be already lunch time.

He wasn’t in the mood to eat, but he shuddered thinking about what other kind of little freedom he had that would be taken away from him if they saw him skipping meals, so he went there anyway and got some food.

It was going to be a long day, but it had always been like that since January anyway.

***

Als had a lot of dreams in the whole time he was staying in the facility. He got them when he was taking a nap. He got them when he slept at night. He got them when he accidentally fell asleep just sitting against the outdoor garden pillar wall.

Sometimes they were bad. Really, really bad.

He got dreams that got him shooting up from his sleep with heart palpitations and hyperventilation, wild eyes searching his surrounding for dangers. There were dreams of when he was trying to escape looming, dark and flaming figure of Ben on top of him, seemingly bigger and with more crushing grips than what he remembered back in 2016. There were some varieties of the bad dream where he woke up in a random hotel room back in 2013, and he saw Jess slithering with scales skin and red eyes, or normal-looking Jess but not any less scary nonetheless.

There were also dreams where he kept running endlessly towards mazes of dim hallways with echoes of strangers’ menacing laughs, taunting him that he could never escape them. Sometimes it ended with him waking up but not really succeeding in escaping them, while other times they got to him and slammed him down on the floor to ravage him and tear his limbs apart and hurt him in unimaginable, but also familiar, ways.

Sometimes the dreams involved James, and it started out so beautifully with the blond smiling at him and offering his hand for Als to hold, but when Als did hold him, the smile turned venomous and he pushed Als down on the rocky ground to hurt him, the rocking motion of the body on top of him so unmistakable with James repeatedly whispering villainously, “This is what your dirty body is made for.”

If he were lucky, it would only be two of them. If not, he would have the bloody man with bullet hole on his head–the one that James cold-bloodedly shot–giving him empty, terrifying smile while standing over them. Sometimes it got more flavorful with all the other attackers he saw on the courtrooms and interviews and Jess clambering all over him and touching him even if he begged them while screaming to stop.

Those were awful.

Other times though, he got the opposite of them. He got…

Well, he didn’t know what to call them.

Sometimes he simply got dreams where he was all young and naïve and was spending time with Rien in Washington. Sometimes it was about when they were a little bit older too, but still relatively happy and very much harmoniously together.

He got dreams about his dates with his other girlfriends too, the best ones he was in with each of them; when they were in fancy restaurants, when they were skiing, when they were simply having sleepover or Netflix-and-chill-ing (the literal one of course). There was no embellishment, no exaggeration, no alteration, just honest memories and his emotions at the time he was making them.

He also got dreams about that one person, the first guy he genuinely fell in love with for the first time, that charming man two year older than he was, with black hair and hazel eyes and mature aura around him. He met him in his 5th semester while the guy was in his last year as they took an elective class together. Even though it went nowhere and the guy ended up dating his ex-girlfriend instead, in his dreams, only the good moments resurfaced.

The weirdest of all, however, was when he had dreams about Ben.

No, not the bad ones where Ben went berserk because he didn’t accept Als wanting to end their relationship. Or when he saw Ben last year at that party, or when that awful January incident happened, no.

He had dreams about their good times, their times when Ben was only his manager right after the band’s split, then when they became more than just a manager and a client to friends, then when Ben became the shoulder he figuratively cried on as he got his heart broken by the hazel-eyed guy, and when Ben finally gave him a bouquet of red roses while saying, “You deserve more than just career advices and directions, or getting blindsided by your own ex-girlfriend. Quite frankly, you also deserve more than these flowers. So would you like me to give you those things you deserve?”

It was confusing.

He mechanically knew he was supposed to hate Ben, and he did, but after those dreams, he found himself longing for their time together. He found himself _missing_ Ben. He remembered the greatest moments they had together, especially when he won his first Oscar and Ben was there, beaming with open arms to receive him in a hug. “I’m proud of being your manager, you know that?” he remembered Ben saying.

Sometimes he found himself crying because it hurt to remember all of those moments, wondering to himself what exactly went wrong. Was it his fault, like what Ben always said in the last few weeks of their relationship? Had Ben always been like that, but just adept at hiding it? Did something happen outside both of their control that just changed Ben? Could he have done something to prevent that?

It also hurt because it was not rare for him to imagine life with Ben if nothing went wrong, and as much as he tried to find a fault, all that he could see of the hypothetical relationship was just a blooming, harmonious one where he might even end up getting engaged too with Ben.

Why did it have to go wrong? Why did Ben have to change to the monster he was now?

At those times, he desperately wished for the nightmares instead. At least if he could see Ben hurting him and causing anguish in his life again, he would not have to bear the burden of thinking the what if’s. All there was to it was just a manipulative serial abuser who happened to lure Als into a relationship with him.

And the nightmares started, in which case, he desperately wished for the good dreams, however confusing and painful, to come back.

Rinse and repeat.

***

Waiting was hell.

It's a common knowledge, but knowing and experiencing are absolutely different things. Again, a common knowledge.

Als was experiencing it presently, and it was probably the most intense waiting period he had ever gone through. It was even worse because he didn’t even know what he was waiting for.

What was next for him that day? Dinner? Meds? Group therapy? Weekly psychiatric assessment? Tomorrow? James' visit? Or his family's visit? Which family?

And then what? What was waiting for him the next day? A new kind of nightmare? Or an old one? Maybe another bad news from the prosecutor? Or maybe another stubborn one who kept trying to subpoena him?

Or maybe another patient's mental breakdown, like that one time a guy was having a particularly bad schizophrenic episode, that would sweep the entire facility into a heap of terror and a wave of domino-effect mental breakdowns too, including his own? Then what else?

His life was just a roundabout cycle of waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and.... he didn’t even know what he should expect. Or when it would end.

He was sick of it.

But then he couldn’t say it, because if anyone heard it–the tech, the staff, or worse yet, the therapists–they were probably going to throw him back into a life full of watchful eyes, each inch of his movement scrutinized to make sure he wasn’t trying to end his life again.

It was funny, in a way, because he'd always wanted a secluded life away from journalists, screaming fans, and paparazzi who kept making him self-conscious and vigilant about every little thing that he did or who he spent time with, like he just couldn’t have a life that was fully his own to enjoy. Now he got that life in the facility, a secluded life away from the media, yet it was all the same anyway.

It was just that the paparazzi were replaced by the staff and what they were watching him now was not for new, gaudy headlines of gossip sites news but for signs whether he was going to kill himself or not.

“Albert?”

He looked up from his book, roused from his dissociative trance in which the book he was holding was pretty much useless.

A staff in the facility's uniform with shoulder-length hair was standing in a respectful distance from him. She had a board with report paper hugged against her chest, undoubtedly containing every tiny detail possible about every patient she was assigned to, probably including details that the patients themselves did not know were there to be noted down.

He wondered what unknown detail she wrote there about him.

“Your psychiatrist, the other one, Doctor Robert Mia, wants to see you. Are you okay to go to your room to see him privately now?”

Dr. Mia was in charge of his psychotherapy, mostly, although he was obviously working together with Dr. Carter to adjust Als’ meds to his needs. However, Dr. Carter was the one mostly controlling his medication therapy while Dr. Mia was for his talk or behavioral therapy.

He didn’t know what he did wrong this time that Dr. Mia wanted to see him outside their scheduled time slot.

He sighed and gathered his things, just several thin history books, before standing up without responding. At this point, he could not be bothered to care about his reputation as a cold, arrogant celebrity who was too spoiled by his silver spoon billionaire family. Or something like that.

Besides, the staff lady worked at an in-patient mental health facility. She probably dealt with worse. She’d understand, he was sure.

As he followed her to his room, a private room courtesy of his father’s wish and additional fund (and also of his former psychiatrist’s recommendation, but mostly because of his dad’s money), many things were brewing in his mind. He had several questions regarding the upcoming meeting, but they were not that much of an importance or curiosity, so he held his tongue.

He was in half-dissociative state again when they finally got to his room, and the staff had to click her fingers in front of his face to get his attention.

“Right, you go ahead and wait. He’s gonna be here shortly.”

He walked in and sat down on the edge of his quite hard bed.

Then she stayed put. Right there, in his room with her mysterious report board against her chest. He stared at her, somewhat questioningly but also emptily until she finally realized someone was watching her.

“Oh, he, uh, told me to accompany you until he arrived. That’s all. Just pretend I’m not here.”

_In other words, I’m watching you to make sure you don’t magically whip up a blade out of thin air to slice your wrist or a rope to hang yourself. You never know, buddy._

“Okay,” he simply replied with small, croaky voice.

And again, he waited. And waited. And waited.

God, he was really sick of it all.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think of this chapter.


	3. First Impression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured this story needs a lil bit of fluff before delving back to torturing my OCs again lol. Enjoy!

_September 2017_

James loathed admitting that, yeah, he was kind of cute in real life. Handsome even.

Just like how he looked in posters and photo cards, he had ever so slightly tanned skin, which looked healthy and natural, and gleaming dark hair that was stylishly long enough for some strands to reach his eyebrows. His eyes were almond-shaped dark grey eyes that were a bit slanted on the edges (which made James remember that he was actually half-Asian), with high cheekbones and shapely jaw. Only, he was admittedly more attractive in real life.

Now James knew why that guy was an international model and a big-time actor at such a young age in Hollywood.

As James observed his features a little further, he noticed the other man’s lips that were full and luscious without being too thick, which showed that they were also natural without any procedure done, and he had a straight nose that was a bit smaller and softer than most Caucasians’ nose. It also helped that he was somewhat as tall as himself at 6’4”, probably only an inch or two shorter, with nice body posture and shape, slim and toned without being too muscular.

Maybe Adelaine had a point when she fangirled over him all these years.

Well, not just him particularly, but his old band. Maybe. James didn’t know. He wasn’t really a fan anyway.

If anything, he was kind of annoyed by the band, considering just how much they were shoved at his face regardless of whether he wanted to know about them or not.

 _Oh won’t you look at those musically genius bunch, they’re all also teens of color and among the youngest Grammy winners in history, they must be proud to be such amazing musicians representing their communities, too bad the band broke up,_ he heard people around him gushed throughout the years.

_And oh did you know? They’re also really smart. The vocalist is in Princeton, the drummer in University of Chicago, and the guitarist in Stanford. The guitarist is also a valedictorian and the student body president in high school and the vocalist is the debate competition winner in state level while the drummer is national physics Olympiad. Also, did you know they all speak several languages? Aren’t they amazing?_

Jesus, stop kissing their asses for once.

James was also in Stanford, and no one gushed like that about him, not even his own sister or his parents. No, his sister was always too busy screaming ‘OH MY GOD THE REGIUMS AAAAHHH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!’

Yeah, he was jealous. So sue him. Adelaine was his sister; she was supposed to look up to him, not people who didn’t even know she existed.

He bet the guy didn’t even remember Adelaine approaching him on his commencement day to ask for a photograph together back in June, abandoning James who was also having his own commencement.

“I just wanna tell you you’re really amazing AJ, you’re so smart and talented and I just want you to know that you are my inspiration!” James remembered Ade saying after taking a selfie with Albert Jay Marcell.

At that time, James was feeling hot, tired, and pissed so he didn’t pay that much attention to that only son of the Marcells.

Yes, that Marcell family, the owner of the multi-generation international construction company which was worth over 8 billion dollars worldwide and whose patriarch was regularly featured in Forbes.

As if he wasn’t oh-so-perfect enough.

Now, James had to have a photoshoot with him.

Amazing. Just what he wanted.

He wondered whether it was just him who didn’t give a fuck enough about his part-time job as a so-so model that he didn’t know this particular gig involved a Milan-fashion-week level model. Or somehow, he was blindsided by his agent.

To be fair, he hated his job as a part-time model so he never cared that much, but this was a gig he could not refuse as the pay was phenomenal compared to his other gigs and his other part-time job as a waiter. That should have been enough clue that maybe this was a bigger deal than most gigs his agent had secured for him.

The point was he didn’t know. And now his eyes were too exhausted to roll again one more time at the photoshoot crew clambering to dote on the Marcell boy. So, he stared instead.

 _I’m betting my ass that it was just because of a bribe, like most rich kids going to Ivy Leagues,_ he thought to himself when he thought about how the other man got into Stanford. Or got any of his achievements at all.

There was no way he was that successful without dearest daddy’s money. The Grammys and the Oscar were probably bought by the billionaire family money too.

Oh well, why should James care? He was just here to get that photoshoot and the paycheck then he wouldn’t give a shit about that Marcell guy, just like how he never gave a shit about any of his fellow models, who were mostly just shallow and typical LA airheads.

Except for when he was in the mood to hook up, which he wasn’t for now.

So, he endured the make-up session for the photoshoot with ears only half-listening to the conversation and sounds around him.

***

James was convinced he was just making a show of how important and busy he was that he was currently talking on the phone in a serious manner while the make-up artists were working on him along with the costume crew. He bet that Marcell guy was just one of those stuck-up arrogant celebrities who always wanted to seem above everyone else.

He sounded so heated on the phone that James was tempted to say to his face, ‘Calm the fuck down, dude. Nobody cares how important you think you are’.

Although he ended up holding his tongue.

But damn if it didn’t piss him off.

“Yeah look, the meeting has to be tomorrow, as I said. I’ve got another urgent meeting today after the photoshoot, and you know that. No, I can’t,” James heard him say.

James rolled his eyes.

“Oh, for god’s sake. You’re my manager, you’re supposed to be able to handle this. Tell them I can’t today, if they insisted just tell them I’ll drop their offer because you know the meeting with the film exec is more pressing than that.”

Wow, talk about sounding important.

“No–hey, I told you don’t mess with my hair–Tomorrow. Period. Tell them it’s final, if they want me in their project, it can’t be today. I already said to them anyway. They’re the ones–didn’t you listen to me about my hair?–anyway, they’re the ones who just came in and insisted I prioritize them, like what the hell?”

Dear god, how much longer did he have to listen to that? Even the other models waiting for their turn to get photographed were starting to seem annoyed, just like the make-up artist currently handling the Marcell guy.

“Okay? All right, we’ll talk about this again later. I gotta go. The photoshoot is starting.”

Oh, thank fuck.

Surprisingly enough, the Marcell guy was cooperative during the photoshoot and didn’t make too much fuss over the artistic direction from the photographer and art director, and the photoshoot was halfway done quite smoothly, despite his initial fuss regarding his hair and his testiness after his call with his manager.

And then came the second call.

“What? I told you not toda–Annabelle? Oh sorry, sweetheart, I thought you’re my manager. What’s up?”

James didn’t really pay attention this time, at least not until the face turned sour immediately.

To be fair, he wasn’t the only one suddenly perking up at the change in his expression. The other models surreptitiously listened in on the call too, so he didn’t feel too guilty for eavesdropping.

“You’re joking,” the Marcell guy said in a noticeably changed tone.

He then closed his eyes and inhaled sharply.

“But you’re–Anna, you can’t just do this to me.”

Ooh drama. What was it about? The so-called 21st century DaVinci was getting dumped through the phone? 

The other models and the crew gave each other silent looks, some of them visibly trying not to grin in amusement. Including James.

Come on, this was a premium entertainment, James couldn’t be blamed for relishing it a bit.

“What do you mean you have–” the dark-haired man made another sharp inhale followed by a hand massaging the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time? Since the beginning? How could you?”

Then he looked around a bit to see everyone subtly staring at him, which darkened his expression, leading up to him snapping, “What? What are you all looking at?!”

As if on cue, everyone immediately looked away and pretended to busy themselves with whatever they could get their hands on, even though James was sure they were still trying to listen in on the conversation.

The Marcell guy then turned around and said in a lower voice, “I hope this is the last time we talk, because I can’t deal with you now. Goodbye.”

Far cry from the first half of the day, he was now cold and fussy and angry at everyone and everything to the point of the photographer had to end the shoot early with still some background and clothes not yet photographed.

James was no longer amused.

Of course, he would throw tantrum and made everyone’s life difficult. Why wouldn’t he? He was the great Albert Jay Marcell. Everyone had to cater to his whims and his mood.

And to think this was the person his sister idolized.

The art director ended up telling everyone to come back again to the studio the next day to rest a bit before finishing the shoot that hadn’t been done, much to everyone’s chagrin.

As if that wasn’t enough, after James changed into his normal clothes and wiped his make-up clean, he had to face that guy again on the way to get out of the building.

He was walking towards the glass door of the building, hand shoved in his pocket to take his car keys out, when he saw the Marcell guy again. Only he was angrily struggling to open the door by pushing, even though it clearly said “Pull”. One of these pushes, he was going to break the door instead.

So, James rolled his eyes and rushed to the door.

“Hey, hey, calm down. Here,” he said as he pulled the door for him.

Instead of a thank you, what he got was a sharp indignant glare as the guy’s cheeks reddened slightly, then he walked out briskly without saying anything.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

***

The next day, James dispassionately got ready for another day of the photoshoot in his decrepit motel.

He was supposed to drive back to Bay Area after the photoshoot and get some rest, but because of that shithead Marcell, he now had to stay longer in L.A. Hence the sudden stay at this kind of shady motel which he could barely afford.

Still, a job was a job. Besides, it meant that the pay would have to be higher anyway since he and the other models had to do 2 days photoshoot instead of the planned one-day shoot. He didn’t know how the pay worked for Marcell though.

Also, he didn’t care.

So, he got ready, checked out, and drove to the studio again.

When he arrived, there were already around half of the crew and the models present, milling around just generally doing their own thing as they all got ready for the work of the day. James walked into the studio and settled over a secluded seating/dining area and put his bag on the table. He decided to browse the web for random things to kill time.

After five minutes or so sitting there, someone suddenly put a cup of beverage in front of him, inviting him to look up.

He was quite surprised to see the Marcell guy again standing there with an unsure face.

“Hi.”

James didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say anyway.

What was he even doing talking to him?

“I don’t know what drink you like, so I just told the barista to make the recommended drink.”

What?

“An apology drink.”

Oh. So he had manners, huh?

James stared at the plastic cup in front of him, the content obviously brimming with cream and sugar that it made him almost shudder. The diabetes that he was going to get from that drink alone…

Still, he gingerly reached for the cup and held it as a way to accept the truce.

“As long as it’s not one of those frivolous frappes, I can drink it.”

He heard a small relieved sigh from across him, although the other man still stared at him patiently.

He… he had to drink it, didn’t he?

As the realization dawned on him, he stared at the barely-coffee-mostly-sugar concoction in his hold and gulped, stuck between risking diabetes and puking due to the sheer amount of sugar and cream in the beverage or hurting the other man’s feeling. He could feel the dark-haired man staring at him intently as if waiting for him to gulp the drink before accepting that he was forgiven.

Was he forgiven anyway?

To be quite honest, James didn’t really care that much now, even if he would prefer being home right now instead of in the studio doing another photoshoot. He was offended yesterday, yes, and was quite annoyed, but he wasn’t the kind of person who held grudges.

It was just… the drink was probably not to his taste.

He was more of an instant coffee plebian who would rather drink it black with only a little sugar. That was the only reason he hesitated to drink it.

But oh well, one cup wasn’t going to kill him.

So he pulled the cup closer to his mouth and started to slurp it a little as the other man stared at him.

Oh god, that was worse than he thought.

“You don’t like it, do you?”

James couldn’t help feeling guilty at the sad face the other man was making.

Oh shit, since when did he care about his teenage sister’s idol?

He sighed before saying, “Look, thank you for the drink and the sentiment. I just prefer my coffee black. That’s all.”

The dark-haired man decided to look down unsurely at the explanation.

“Besides, it’s not just me who you need to apologize to.”

He scratched his head awkwardly as a response, then said, “Yeah. I know. I just remembered you helping me with the door yesterday,” he responded with a hint of red dusting back on his cheeks again.

Huh. James didn’t expect him to remember, to be honest.

“And, uh… I also bought cookies for the whole crew. Though it seems kind of stupid now.”

James wasn’t sure if agreeing was the right course of action, but that was certainly correct. He didn’t know anyone who would forgive being mistreated and forced to work another day than what was necessary with just being given a mere cookie.

“It’s the thought that counts,” he eventually said, well, more like _bullshited_.

The other man just sat solemnly for a while before turning his head to look at the surrounding people who mostly just gave him wide berth and thinly veiled irritated look.

“Look, just…be sincere. Whether they forgive you or not for yesterday, it’s their right. But at least you try.”

He still looked unsure while frowning, though he eventually looked contemplatively at his right where the people were.

“Okay.”

Then he stood up while slinging his messenger bag to his shoulder as he exhaled.

“Anyway, I didn’t catch your name,” he said while turning around to face James again.

James raised his eyebrows, not expecting someone who acted so grandiose yesterday to care about his name.

“Uh, it’s James.”

Then unexpectedly, he smiled slightly and held out a hand.

“Hi, I’m Albert,” he spoke a bit excitedly while still holding out his hand expectantly.

James couldn’t help but stare at the hand dumbfoundedly. Did Albert Jay Marcell really just offer an introduction to him?

After a while though, he felt bad for not responding so he shook the hand despite his confusion, and something even more unexpected happened.

Albert smiled wider and soft dips appeared on his cheeks.

He had dimples. _Fucking dimples_.

Oh hell no, James was not crushing on the one and only Albert Jay Marcell. Hell no.

Yet, despite that train of thought, he couldn’t help his heart leaping when Albert sat down across him again after the series of apologies to the others while distributing the cookies adorably and after the photoshoot was done, to talk about god knows what.

Maybe about why he was acting like a brat yesterday (his now ex-girlfriend turned out to be already engaged to someone else before she started dating Albert, and she just admitted it yesterday), or about being fellow Stanford alumni, or about showing him around Bay Area when he visited since he never had a chance to when he was in college because he was too busy, or maybe about him offering to help James with his application for an engineering internship so that he could quit being a model and he realized how smart Albert actually was.

Good lord.

James was so fucked.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think :D


End file.
